


Of Revolutions and Resolutions

by letsbreereal



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunk Ryder, F/M, Friendship, Like literally no hurt that didn't already happen in canon, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Pre-Relationship, Timeline What Timeline, just a little bit i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsbreereal/pseuds/letsbreereal
Summary: A year into the Pathfinder team's mission in Andromeda, Jaal finds a drunk Vakara Ryder celebrating what she has decided is the Pathfinder Official New Year's Eve™. (Pre-Relationship & Completely Fudged Timeline.)
Relationships: Jaal Ama Darav/Female Ryder | Sara, Jaal Ama Darav/Ryder
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23
Collections: MEFFW Secret Santa Exchange 2019





	Of Revolutions and Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyrddinDerwydd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/gifts).



> This is for the lovely MyrddinDerwydd, as part of the MEFFW 2019 Secret Santa. I apologize for not getting this out by the holiday itself! I've had this idea from day one but I just REALLY struggled to write Jaal for some reason. If his voice sounds off just blame it on the alcohol Vakara consumed. (;
> 
> ~~also also i want it on the record that this was posted well before midnight on jan 4. i didn't think about timezones, so i'm extra sorry if this is actually late in your timezone!~~

Vakara Ryder is drunk.

 _Completely_ and _utterly_ drunk.

Or, well, as completely and utterly drunk as one can be with an AI in your head capable of tweaking your metabolic rate. She’d had to negotiate with SAM to get him to let her actually _feel_ as drunk as she’s felt for this long.

Sprawled out on the floor of the Tempest’s meeting room, her back resting against the central table housing the vidcon terminal, she stares out through the large windows at the seemingly endless sea of stars. Her hands play absently with a nearly-empty bottle of whiskey – a nice enough bottle, one Vetra had managed to acquire for her, and one she _really_ should remember the name of, but time or smuggling had damaged the label, and Vakara’s mind is focused on more important things, anyway.

Like time.

And the universe.

And how both are so ridiculously vast and eternal.

And _life_.

And how small and insignificant it seems in comparison.

Or, well, at least a _human_ life.

She takes a deep sip from the bottle, frowning at the melodramatic turn her thoughts have taken.

It’s a testament to either her intense focus on her own thoughts or her complete and utter drunkenness – or more likely, _both_ – that she doesn’t notice the Tempest’s automatic lights brightening in the research room below, doesn’t notice the shuffling of footsteps making their way up the ramp to her right, doesn’t notice when she’s suddenly no longer alone.

There’s a cautious clearing of a throat from her right, but all Vakara offers in response is a distracted ‘hmm?’ of a sound as she chews on her lip and wonders what joke her brother would make if he could hear her ridiculous internal ramblings.

And _oooh_ , hey, could that be a thing? She’d talked to her twin through his SAM implant, after all, and SAM obviously had a private channel in her own mind. Would it be possible to--?

“…Ryder?”

Vakara blinks, rolls her head to the side, frowns, and then breaks into a wide grin. “Jaal!” she chirps out, pointing at him with the bottle of – well, mostly _air_ , at this point.

It occurs to her – not for the first time – that Angaran faces are so incredibly expressive. She watches different emotions play across his face, before deep concern settles on his lowered brow and down-turned lips. “Are you… alright?”

She mimics his frown, sets down the bottle, and proceeds to pat herself down for a second, checking herself for any injuries the alcohol might’ve made her forget about. She gives a satisfied nod when she finds none.

“The Pathfinder is inebriated, but unharmed,” SAM’s robotic voice declares over the meeting room’s speakers.

Vakara points to the ceiling in confirmation, flashing another grin Jaal’s way as she plucks the bottle back off the ground again.

Or, well, _tries_ to pluck. She misses first, has to blink one eye shut and try again.

“That is… not what I meant, but thank you, SAM,” the Angara responds, gaze flickering over the empty meeting room. Vakara watches indecision wrestle in those large, expressive eyes of his. She has to blink and refocus her attention when she realizes he’s speaking and she’s already missed part of what he’s said. “—prefer to be alone when you’re upset?”

She blinks twice more, gives herself a minute to fill in the blanks. She wants to say “no,” but some still-properly-functioning part of her mind warns her she doesn’t actually know what ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would actually mean. She scoots to the side, instead, moving over a few inches. She pats the spot beside her, beams when the Angara moves to join her on the ground.

Point for Drunk Ryder.

“I’m not upset,” she confides then, whispering it like it’s some big secret, and grins at him when he frowns rather adorably in confusion.

“You’re… not?” There’s another unspoken question there, she’s certain, an exasperated _I don’t understand you humans_ , perhaps, but all she sees in his expression is patience. And confusion. Lots of confusion.

A laugh bubbles out of her, and she decides to take pity on him as she leans her head back against the table and lets it roll so she’s staring out at the stars again. “Or maybe I am, a little. I don’t know. I’m celebrating.” She frowns again, concentrates on that, because par of it feels true and part of it feels like a lie. “Or maybe grieving? I don’t know. I’m just… _feeling_. Don’t get a lot of time to do that, these days.”

He hums out an acknowledgement, and she can feel his gaze on the side of her face for a moment, before he turns to watch the stars with her. “I imagine it must be difficult, having to constantly strategize and make decisions. You do not have as much downtime as the others.”

Her lips twitch, fingers idly tapping along the bottle in her hands. “Oh, I think my brother’s getting enough downtime for the both of us, right now. Someone’s gotta balance him out. Besides, I didn’t sign up for _downtime_.”

“You didn’t sign up for _this_ , either.” The words are spoken gently, without judgment or implication. She turns to look at him again, appreciates for a moment how perceptive he is. It’s been a while since someone said that aloud.

It’s been a _while_ since she became Pathfinder.

She shouldn’t be saying things like that anymore.

It’s been too long.

“Three hundred and sixty-five days,” she says aloud, draining the remainder of the bottle as she turns back to the stars.

From beside her, Jaal voices his confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s been 365 days since we arrived in Andromeda. The Hyperion, I mean. Not the Nexus. _Three hundred and sixty-five days_. ‘s why I’m celebrating. …Grieving? _Feeling_.”

“I… see. And this particular unit of measurement is important to you?”

She laughs, then, because it’s such a ridiculously fair question. “It’s funny, isn’t it? That it is? I haven’t been on Earth in… well, over 600 years, I suppose. I wasn’t even born planet-side. Why am I measuring time by it’s orbit?”

She stares hard at where she imagines the Milky Way to be, then catches herself and backtracks.

“Earth is the home planet for my species, back in the Milky Way. It— _hey!_ ” Her eyes widen as she spins back toward him, pointing the empty bottle in his direction. “Say ‘Milky Way’.”

Though he appears confused, Jaal complies, repeating her pronunciation back to her.

Vakara immediately adopts a crestfallen expression. “Damn! You’ve been around us too long. I miss your weird pronunciation from when we met on Aya.”

There’s a soft smile on the Angaran’s lips, then, and fondness in his gaze, but before he can say anything in response, Vakara is back on her original train of thought.

“Anyway: Milky Way. Earth. 365 days is how long it takes the planet to orbit the sun. A year. It’s been a year since we arrived. Since Habitat 7.”

Jaal’s hum is one of understanding. “Since your father died.”

She nods in response, lifts the bottle to her lips again only to remember it’s empty, lets it fall back to her lap. “So: grieving.”

It’s silent for a moment, peaceful and respectfully so, and she has a moment to let that feeling wash over her. Grief. She misses him. Misses her brother, too, but she supposes she shouldn’t be feeling that way. He’s still alive. SAM let her do that cool talking-to-coma-guy thing just a few weeks ago.

But it feels like she lost him, then, too.

A year is a long time without her twin.

Maybe it’s an Angaran trait or maybe it’s just _Jaal_ , but he seems to have a sixth sense for knowing how to read her. He gives her the exact right amount of time to grieve before bringing her out of it with a gentle question: “What are you celebrating, then?”

She perks up immediately, opening her arms wide in a gesture to the windows before them and the stars beyond. “A new year. It’s a thing. On Earth. On New Year’s Eve, people stay up late and count down the seconds. It’s supposed to be on a specific day of the year, but I figure: new galaxy, new century, new calendar, right? I’m starting the clock at the arrival of the Hyperion. Wait. What was I…? Oh! You try to leave behind all of your demons from the past year, make resolutions for how you want to improve the next… Dream of the exciting adventures you’ll soon begin… Usually everyone toasts together with alcohol of some kind.”

She pauses, frowns down at the empty bottle in her hands, then turns to offer him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. I’d share if there was anything left. But yeah: celebrating.” She leans forward then, canting her body to the right and bumping her shoulder against his. “We can still do the resolution thing, though? If you want?”

Jaal attempts to mimic her shoulder-jostling motion, but he’s taller than her and it doesn’t work quite as well. Still, she smiles up at him, and he smiles back. “I would like that very much.”

She nods, sobering a bit, as if she was about to convey very important information. “So what you do, is just think about what you want for the next year, and say it aloud. Like, ‘I’m going to actually get in shape this year for real this time,’ or ‘I’m going to stop drunk-vidcalling my ex on my omni tool.’ You know. As completely random examples of things I’ve never personally used or anything.”

“Hmmm,” the Angaran draws out, looking for a minute as if he was going to call her out, but instead he turned back to the stars. “Are these resolutions allowed to be something that’s already started?”

“Oh yeah.”

He hums again. “Then, I would like… to continue finding my place in the galaxy. To bring my family pride. Being with this team… it has meant a lot to me, Ryder. I expect it will mean even more these next 365 days.”

She turns to look at him again. “I think they’re already proud, Jaal. And that team thing goes both ways, you know. You being here has meant a lot to me, too. Us. To all of us.”

His face lights up with his smile. “And your resolutions?”

“Oh, kill the Archon, find Meridian, save the galaxy. You know. Normal Tuesday.” She laughs for a moment, before shaking her head and sharing the true resolution she’d settled on earlier: “I’m going to try to forgive myself for being the one that survived."

She feels his gaze on her again, steady, but not too probing, but this time she doesn’t turn her head.

Can’t.

“Forgiveness is very difficult,” Jaal says, after a moment, his tone soft with understanding, “but I’ve never known someone more worthy of it. That sounds like an noble resolution, Ryder.”

Words fail her.

She flounders.

Tries and fails to speak.

“Jaal—“

“Pathfinder, it is now time to begin the countdown you requested,” SAM’s automated voice interjected, before immediately launching into said countdown. “10… 9… 8…”

She looks at Jaal, tries to show in her expression her appreciation for his words – for his _understanding_ where others might have argued the point.

“7… 6… 5…” SAM drones on.

She blinks back wetness from her eyes. Immediately blames the alcohol.

“4… 3…”

 _Leans into_ the alcohol, then. Makes a snap decision.

“2…”

She leans forward, wobbles only a little bit, and blinks a single eye shut again to try and correct her faulty depth perception.

“1.”

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth – a slight miss, though whether she’d been aiming for his cheek or his lips, she couldn’t be sure.

She pulls away and offers another nod and a smile. “Tradition,” she claims.

Jaal blinks up at her, opens his mouth to say something.

“Welllllllp, now it’s time for bed,” Vakara announces before he can speak. She manages to pull herself to her feet and catch her balance relatively easily, bracing herself against the vidcon table for only a brief moment.

She refuses to spare him a glance as she pivots pointedly and makes her way toward her room.

But she can't help but pause at the top of the ramp. She calls back over her shoulder: “Happy New Year, Jaal.”

“Happy New Year, Vakara.”


End file.
